


keen to play with fire

by trill_gutterbug



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Carrillo's evil smedium shirts, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Relationship Negotiation, UST, i mean everything everyone does in this show is inadvisable so like...., inadvisable drinking practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: After a long day, Javi and Carrillo have a conversation outside a bar.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Javier Peña
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	keen to play with fire

**Author's Note:**

> In the first few eps of Narcos, Carrillo is referred to as "Major" a number of times, so I'm assuming he got an offscreen promotion at some point in s1. Or the subtitles are whack, who can say! Either way, this is set pre-s1, so I'm going with him being a Major. 
> 
> [Lingua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua) and her unrelenting peer-pressuring thirst is, of course, to blame for absolutely everything about this. Please direct your complaints in her direction.

“Tell me, Major,” Javi said, pouring their third shots with one eye shut against the glare of the bar’s bright sign overhead, “are the National Police suffering budget cuts, or do you not know how to do your laundry properly?” Carrillo lifted an eyebrow as Javi passed him the slippery glass across their little wrought iron table. Javi clarified, raising his own glass in a salute to both the successful evening and the tenacity of Carrillo’s heroic shirt cuffs, “What is that, a size medium? A small?”

Carrillo might have been about to smirk, but he covered it by tossing back his shot. He always took his tequila like water - weak water - but this time he bared his teeth at Javi as he swallowed. Javi did the same, although it was less an affectation and more the fact he hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner today. His stomach burned. His arms and legs did too, albeit pleasantly. It was after midnight and he was grateful for the quiet music that drifted out from the bar to soften Medellín’s cityscape of noise. He was comfortably tired, comfortably accomplished, comfortably anticipatory.

“Large,” said Carrillo finally, sucking air between his teeth. He tipped his head, eyeing Javi. “You don’t recognize something large when you see it?”

Javi laughed. “So you _are_ shrinking them.” He set his glass down and turned to squint over his shoulder at their truck parked up on the curb, just to give himself a second to think. It was only him and Carrillo left outside the bar, which they’d chosen specifically for being a dump and a quiet one at that, but he still felt the furtive urge to check for the police boys who’d already had their beers and gone home. He was glad he and Carrillo had taken their bottle outside. Even with his jacket off and a breeze ruffling the flyers pinned to the nearby power pole, he was sweating. Although perhaps that was due to more than just the unseasonable weather. Maybe he was reading too much into things - maybe he’d been reading everything wrong for months, now - but he didn’t think so. “Guess I’m out of practice at recognizing some things,” he said, turning back.

Carrillo shook his head. Javi could see his hands resting on his thighs beneath the table, fingers loosely interlaced. The jaundiced streetlight glinted off his wedding ring and picked out the shadow of tendons in his wrists. “You have a keen eye, Javier. You don’t miss much.”

Javi took a slow breath through his nose, working his tongue around the inside of his mouth. The drinking had chased off the staleness of his hungry breath, replacing it with the sharp cardboard taste of tequila, but his mouth still felt strange. Lonely. He didn’t often let himself feel this way; usually he was better about taking care of it before it became a problem. He knew he was as much a junkie as any sharecropping sicario or Miami lawyer, but unfortunately his poison of choice couldn’t be snorted or smoked. It had to be sweet-talked, wined and dined, caressed under low lighting, or offered a day’s salary. Sometimes it felt like a more dangerous and expensive addiction than anything he was paid to chase around the streets of Colombia, and one that reared its head in unexpected ways. Three weeks after he and Carrillo began working together at the Medellín headquarters, spending late nights in the office and early mornings on the street, Carrillo had asked him, “Agent Peña, are you a homosexual?”

Javi, in the middle of taking a drink from his tepid mug of old coffee, had choked. He spent thirty seconds coughing before answering, which was incriminating by twenty-eight seconds. “N-no?” he said at last, wiping his mouth. Then, “_No_,” more firmly, because Carrillo was still staring at him without expression, perched on the edge of his desk, turning a pen between his fingers. Javi hadn’t felt so wrong-footed since his first humiliating days at the academy. He wanted to say more, to elucidate or deflect, but wasn’t sure how. No one had ever asked him that before. “No,” he mumbled again, “I’m…”

Carrillo had shrugged one shoulder, breaking eye contact with a tilt of his eyebrows. “A pity,” he’d said, and changed the subject so smoothly Javi was still reeling by the time he was asked an actual case-related question, which he stammered through answering as well. It wasn’t his finest moment.

He was withholding judgement on how this current moment was going.

He turned his glass between his fingers, scraping the rim along the curled fleur-de-lis of the table. “I’ve missed plenty,” he said at last. He glanced at Carrillo sidelong, from under his lashes. “Haven’t I?”

Carrillo regarded him. He looked entirely unruffled by either the heat or the conversation, the collar of his shirt still buttoned tight, his shoulders relaxed. He’d arrived at the office that morning smooth and smelling of aftershave, but even in this strange light Javi could see a perimeter of stubble coming in dark along his jaw and neck, above his lip, along his cheekbones. If he left it two days, maybe even one, he’d probably be in violation of some kind of departmental code. His mouth tipped up at one corner. It could have been a humorless expression except for how his gaze slid across Javi, casual enough to be teasing. He reached for the bottle between them.

“What do you believe you’ve missed, Agent Peña?” He raised his brows, but looked at the bottle as he poured. “I’m sure you’d tell me immediately if you thought you were inadvertently withholding vital information, no?” He made a questioning motion toward Javi’s glass. Javi held it out. The bottle clinked on the rim and tequila sloshed his fingertips, dripping through the table onto the sidewalk. They’d drunk half the bottle already, too quickly to really feel yet. In a few minutes, it would catch up. Javi had to make his choices accordingly.

He lifted the glass to his mouth at the same time Carrillo did, but didn’t drink. He let it rest on his bottom lip, tasting it, then lowered it an inch. He watched Carrillo take his shot before he took his own - proverbially speaking. “When we first started working together… Why did you ask me if I was a homosexual?” He said it low, despite their solitude. It felt right to do so, even if he hadn’t been paranoid about being overheard.

Carrillo’s empty glass hit the table carelessly. He tilted his chin at Javi, eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking with me?”

Javi inhaled, leaning back in his chair. He held his brimming glass between them like an unfinished sentence left to hang, a defensive measure. “No. Are you fucking with me?”

Carrillo spread his hands. “Why would I?”

That wasn’t really an answer. Javi eyed Carrillo over the glass. “I have a reputation with women,” he said. He hated the way it sounded, the sleazy way it tasted, but he’d learned long ago that other men would interpret whatever he said however they liked and there was nothing he could do about that. It was easier to let people think what they wanted. “I assume you’ve heard.”

Carrillo grinned. Javi shut his eyes against it, because it always hit him hard in the gut. He lifted his glass and swallowed his liquor by feel.

“And I am happily married,” Carrillo said. “Not everything is always as it seems.”

Javi cracked his eyes back open, wincing through the tequila’s burn. He set his glass on the table. The seconds ticked by, spreading heat down his throat, through his belly. He breathed through his teeth, chasing it, then conceded with a nod. “No. It sure isn’t.”

They looked at one another without speaking. Javi’s heart pounded in his ears. He was finally starting to feel tipsy.

“Alright,” said Carrillo. He put his palms decisively on the table and pushed himself up. “It’s late, Javier.”

Javi blinked, surprised, then stood too. Had he managed it? Already, so easily? He glanced at the half-empty bottle, then grabbed it and his jacket. “Okay. Uh...”

“Your flight to Bogotá leaves early, doesn’t it?” Carrillo turned to head for the truck, digging in his pocket for the keys. “You should get a good sleep.”

Javi stared after Carrillo’s retreating back. It looked as good as it ever did, maybe even better, the movement of his muscles picked out in shadow and sweat. His tightly belted pants, the strain of the shirt across his shoulders, the shape of his waist and hips… Javi’s mouth flushed miserably, hungrily wet. He hurried to catch up, climbed into the passenger seat, and sat quietly as they pulled out onto the road. They drove in a direction Javi was familiar with. He waited for some kind of sign - a glance, a word, the movement of Carrillo’s hand across the seat between them - to substantiate what was happening, but none came. “Uh,” he ventured at last, “is this… Are we…” He stammered off, nonplussed. Since when was he bad at this?

Carrillo looked sideways at him, shifting to slow for a stop sign. The streets were quiet in this neighborhood at this time of night, which was good, because even when entirely sober Carrillo tended to treat road laws with as much situational respect as he did most others. Javi saw the answer on Carrillo’s face before he spoke. “I’m taking you to your hotel,” Carrillo said. “And then I’m going home.”

He didn’t say it gently, which Javi was grateful for. Just matter-of-fact. Just colleagues winding down from a mild evening of casual celebration, superficial if not for the fact that it needed to be said.

“Right,” said Javi, deflating. He bit his tongue to keep from saying _sorry_. He felt it anyway, and embarrassed besides. He frowned out the window. He’d miscalculated somewhere, but wasn’t sure where, which was much worse than staring a fuckup in the face. It was dangerous territory, prone to being stumbled into again unawares. He kept his mouth shut for a few more blocks, feeling around for the outline of his mistake, until Carrillo’s louche driving brought them to a stop for traffic. Javi cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, I didn’t mean to…” He gestured in a motion expansive enough to encompass either the two of them specifically, or the night in general, in case Carrillo was the type to take offense at that sort of insinuation. Javi didn’t think he was, but then again he’d thought a few things until just a couple minutes ago.

Carrillo didn’t answer for such a long moment that the silence started to make Javi cringe. He leaned toward the window like he could perhaps project himself out of his body if it became necessary, out of this suddenly alarming situation, by sheer force of will. If he thought very hard about being somewhere else, somewhere he hadn’t just put his job and his friendship and possibly his fucking life on the line, maybe this would all go away. It had never worked before, but hey - try, try again, right?

“You have certain ideas about the way things work,” Carrillo said at last. His voice was low and this time it did border on gentle. Javi watched his hand move on the gearstick, his wrist twisting as he shifted to accelerate away from their stop. “How to go about getting things you want.” His thumb tapped the stick pensively. Javi looked at his face, which was almost unbearably handsome even dappled and flashing under the passing streetlights. There was nothing accusatory in it even now, nothing Javi could get a read on, but there _was_ something. He opened his mouth to respond, maybe to defend himself against an accusation that hadn’t quite been made, but Carrillo shot him a quick, silencing glance. Javi nodded instead, shrugging one shoulder. So what? Didn’t everyone operate under their own particular schemas, with their own particular intentions in mind? Strictly speaking, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet.

“I also have ideas,” Carrillo said, “and I believe they are superficially different from yours.”

_Superficially_, Javi didn’t say, although he thought it loudly enough to rattle the windows of his mind. What the fuck did that mean?

“We are interested in the same things, Javier,” Carrillo went on, like he could hear Javi thinking. He said it so casually that it took a second for Javi’s brain to catch up, for tentative relief to rush through him. Maybe he hadn’t fucked up too badly after all, if Carrillo was saying something like that, something so open to interpretation. In a situation like the one Javi was guessing they were in, there could be no vocabulary too subtle - despite his opening salvo of, in retrospect, brass band-level delicacy. “But,” Carrillo went on, “those things come at different costs for each of us. And possibly different benefits.”

They came to another stop, Carrillo heavy-footed on the pedals. Javi stared out the windshield at the red light, waging a furious mental game of pick-up sticks with himself. He needed to chose his next move very carefully, or risk upsetting the whole playing field. But in the end he chose the nearest path for no reason except that it was nearest and that he was making decisions through the lens of four shot glasses. “What do you mean, different benefits?”

The light stayed red. Traffic poured past in both directions. They were closer to downtown here, skirting the core toward the Medellín office and Javi’s hotel. The bustle of it gave Javi a perverse sort of confidence; he wasn’t the only person out at one in the morning, doing inadvisable things at inadvisable speeds.

Carrillo made a considering noise. “I suppose that remains to be seen.”

Javi sighed. Maybe there _was_ such a thing as vocabulary too subtle. “I’ve never known you to be so evasive,” he muttered. “Say what you fucking mean.”

The light turned green. They pulled forward. Carrillo said, slyly, “I already told you. I’m happily married.”

Christ. Javi rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get a hangover and he was barely even drunk yet. If this was a game Carrillo was playing with him, he sure as shit didn’t understand the rules. “Okay,” he said. “Sure. Forget I asked.”

“Oh, come on.” The grin was audible in Carrillo’s voice, so Javi was careful not to look. “I’ve never known _you_ to give up so easily.”

Javi made a sharp, open-handed motion. He heard the frustration in his own voice. “Don’t you think I get enough of this shit at work? I don’t want to be second-guessing you, on top of everything else.”

“Alright,” said Carrillo, soothingly. “Alright. My apologies.”

Javi scowled out the windshield. It was more annoying to be soothed than it was to have his feathers ruffled in the first place. Now he felt like a brat on top of being an asshole. He squared himself and tried again. “I just don’t understand what…” He hesitated. “Listen, I’m not trying to make things complicated, here.”

Carrillo nodded. “I know. And I’m not trying to fuck with you.”

“Well, I think you might be, a little bit. Aren’t you? If you want to -” Javi raised an illustrative hand. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but -”

Carrillo glanced toward him, shifting gears without looking. His dark eyebrows spelled out a question his mouth echoed a moment later. “Why not, Javi? Why don’t you be blunt with me?”

Javi took a sharp breath. He blinked at the passing road. Why didn’t he? _Why?_ He chuckled. “It’s not that easy,” he said. He clenched a fist on his thigh, warding off the sudden spasm of anger that tightened his throat. He was surprised by how strangled his voice sounded through it.

“I’m telling you that it is.” Carrillo was still looking at him, but turned back to the road as they approached a corner. “It’s as easy as you want it to be.”

They were only a few blocks from the hotel, Javi realized. He couldn’t decide if the feeling that washed over him was relief or more anger. He would be getting out of the truck soon, for better or worse. He could have some water and a sleep, and tomorrow he’d go home and not have to talk to Carrillo again for perhaps as much as two weeks. He could forget the whole thing, maybe, and move the fuck on. Or he could say something now, quickly, and see where that got him. Talking to people came easily to him; chatting, flirting, getting information, getting his way - it was a natural talent he’d spent years transforming into a deployable skill, and it rarely failed him. He’d taken more people to bed in his life than he could hope to count, women and men both. It should be easy to do the same now, a habit as simple as ordering food at a restaurant or making a phone call. There was no reason he couldn’t do it. Just say something flirtatious, something brazen, the kind of thing that made people smile. He knew how to do that.

He opened his mouth. A long second passed.

“Do as I say, Javi,” Carrillo said, softly.

Javi shut his eyes. His breath trembled. “I don’t want to fuck up,” he said at last, just as soft.

Carrillo was silent.

“I want you to - I want us to -” Fucking Christ. He searched for the words, knew what they were, grimaced at them, and said them anyway. “I want you. And if you want me too, I’m - I’d - Then we can do that.”

Another moment of silence, lengthier and heavier than the first. Javi winced.

“Not bad,” Carrillo finally said. “Not your most eloquent, but not bad.”

Javi blew out his breath. “Fuck you,” he mumbled.

Carrillo laughed. “Thank you,” he said. It sounded like he meant it. “Good job.”

Javi blinked his eyes open. “Yeah?” he asked, too quiet, then cleared his throat to cover it up. “So, uh.” He shifted around, lightheaded, heart pounding. He saw the sign for the hotel coming down the block.

“So,” Carrillo repeated, “I’m going to drop you off, and then I’m going to go home.”

Oh. Javi swallowed. The disappointment, this time, was even more bitter than before. He felt for the bottle of tequila sitting next to him on the seat. He would definitely be finishing it off tonight. Alone, apparently. “Okay,” he said.

“And then I will be coming to Bogotá on Wednesday,” Carrillo continued.

Javi snapped a look toward him. “You will?”

Carrillo nodded. “I have a meeting at three, at the embassy.”

“Okay,” said Javi again, trying not to hold his breath.

“Come pick me up from it, after.” Carrillo began to slow for the turn into the hotel parking lot. His jaw worked before he continued. “I don’t need to be on the flight back until seven.”

The truck bumped over the curb as they pulled in, narrowly missing a border of low, decorative hedge. Javi’s fingers tightened on the tequila bottle. His heart throbbed in his wrists, in his ears and belly. “I - Sure.” He rubbed a hand over his dry lips. “I can do that.”

Carrillo swung around in front of the main lobby doors, a tight arc that sloshed Javi’s stomach. He hardly noticed. He watched Carrillo shift into park, then grip the steering wheel with both hands, and finally cock his head to return Javi’s riveted gaze. “Do we understand each other?”

Javi couldn’t have looked away if he’d tried. The hard lines of Carrillo’s face were like razorblades in the stark streetlight shadows. Javi nodded. “Yes, we understand each other.” He wasn’t sure he was being entirely honest, but he’d said the words, like he’d been told, and Carrillo had kept his end of the unspoken deal. They were on the same page - or at least reading from the same playbook.

“Good,” said Carrillo. He tipped his chin toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

The dismissal was unmistakable. Javi reached for the door handle and tugged, gathering his jacket under one arm. “Goodnight,” he said, slithering backwards off the seat. “I’ll see you then, uh…” He needed to stop talking. His face burned. “Yeah, see you then.”

Just before his feet hit the pavement, Carrillo leaned across the seat and grabbed his arm. His hand curled around the entirety of Javi’s wrist - not hard, but firm. Javi stopped moving. He stared at Carrillo’s face in the dark, where the glow from the hotel’s sign illuminated his mouth and the angle of his jaw. “Have a good sleep, Javi,” he said. His thumb slid once across the back of Javi’s hand, and then he let go and leaned back.

Javi found his feet, exhaling shakily. “Thanks,” he mumbled. Carrillo put the truck in gear as Javi pushed the door shut, and Javi stood there as he peeled out of the parking lot, straight overtop the decorative hedge this time. “Motherfucker,” Javi breathed, watching the taillights retreat down the road. His head was spinning. He laughed a little, quietly, incredulously, just to himself. He looked down at the half-full bottle of tequila in his hand. Maybe he wouldn’t drink it by himself tonight. After all, he had a date.


End file.
